Beyond the Horizon
by abdon-zamudio
Summary: A short musical AU about Dean's love for Sam as an actor.


Dean didn't really know what he was expecting when he walked into the opera house of the Moore's School of Music. He knew in the back of his mind that all the pianists that had come to play for the orchestras were as a rule, extremely unpleasant. They were always in a huff, frowning, or crying by themselves wallowing endlessly in their despair. And when one tried to help them, they would recoil like a poisonous snake and attempt to bite you. Figuratively, of course- nobody actually _bit _him.

He remembered Anastasia with the long Russian last name working with him on his singing for "State Fair", and she was always complaining about something. She would even pick up her music and toss it at him if he made the slightest mistake.

"Ana, why are you wearing a wool sock over your head?"

"You're such a whore, Dean," she'd scream at him, tossing a heavy book full of music at him.

Then there came Nick, who was a little nicer, but just as weird and liked to show up shirtless or in his pajamas. He once showed up with a piece of aluminum taped to his head.

"You're all probably wondering why I came here today with aluminum on my head," said Nick, "It's because the aliens can't communicate with me when I'm wearing the aluminum because it deflects their telepathy."

Dean tried not to look confused. He was proud of himself for not commenting on his stuffed teddy bear that he took with him to each practice.

Of course there was Rosa who brought peanut butter and strawberry jelly with a loaf of bread and ate half the loaf in one sitting… every single practice. All three were talented, but nearly insufferable with their tears and "artistic license" they claimed for themselves. Meaning, they could change the music as they felt instead of actually reading the notes- that may be nice for a soloist, but not for a group of singers.

Dean was dreading his next practice as the Beast in "Beauty and the Beast", he almost lost the role to Michael whatever-his-last-name-was but thankfully he got sick and Dean was able to play the part alongside the sweet Tessa Frost. They got along well enough, but Dean didn't want to mention that she played the stalest Belle that he had ever seen in his life. Belle, in his estimation, should be quietly passionate, not emotionally frigid and boring.

_Castiel Engel_, with a name like Castiel he must be a big old freak. He was probably some ancient professor who was miserly and would go out of his way to make Dean's musical experience as nasty as possible. He imagined a balding man with white hair sticking out in all directions, or it could be a toupee. Mr. Holley; the director had insisted that Dean get piano lessons so that he would be a contender for the play "the Pianist" based off of Roman Polanski's awarding winning film. Very loosely based. Mr. Holley had told Dean that he was an excellent actor- but neither Jewish, nor musically talented, so he needed to step up his game.

Mr. Holley recommended a colleague, a formidable pianist who went to the Curtis Institute of Music at seventeen, and went on to Eastman School of Music for his PhD. After that, he toured the world and impressed crowds from China, Russia, and Carnegie Hall. His only rival was a young girl from Michoacán whose name was Consuelo de Moreno, a beautiful lady. Dean wondered if she would be better as a teacher, but Mr. Holley would be the one directing the auditions so he shouldn't go and pick whoever he wanted.

The lights were incredibly bright in the auditorium and Dean had to squint to see the back of a tan trench coat and a man with inky black hair sitting at the piano. _Okay, _Dean thought to himself, _not old, must not be Castiel. _Dean was light on his feet, and he took a moment to compose himself before opening his mouth. As soon as he opened his mouth, the man began to play. And _oh, _it was beautiful. God had literally walked down from the heavens and possessed this man. He was an angel.

He heard a pianist in that auditorium who appeared to be something really quite extraordinary. Dean had been skeptical because he had heard many a pianist play impressively. He played with expression in the older sense of the word, nothing else; but such power of countenance he had never heard before. The sound he brought out of the piano was unheard of, or at least Dean had never heard anything like it. The man didn't seem to know how he produced these novel and quite improbable sounds - although he appeared to be a man of intelligence and not just some lax dreamer. There was such fullness of tone, achieved without ever becoming rough. Above all he was only about Dean's age.

One never sensed that the music is difficult, that it is technique - no, it was simply a power of the will, capable of soaring over all imaginable difficulties in the realization of an idea.

Dean found himself glued to the spot, not wanting to disturb Castiel's playing. Except, the music came to an abrupt halt. Castiel stared at a point ahead of him, and then came a low gravelly voice which made Dean's heart skip a beat.

"You're not as quiet as you think you are," said the man, sighing.

"Oh," said Dean, suddenly unable to find words, "Uh, I was just uh, looking for someone and the erm, practice room things are empty… all the offices too."

"Who are you looking for?" asked the man, turning to face Dean. Dean's stomach dropped to his feet. It was possible he had never seen a man quite as _appealing_ as this. Dean felt himself beginning to blush like a preteen girl seeing her crush on the first day of school. The man was wearing a tan trench coat with a white shirt underneath complete with a cheap looking blue tie that was crooked. Dean started to feel underdressed, wearing tattered jeans and an old leather jacket he found lurking at the bottom of his closet. Dean choked a little and stared at the man.

"Castiel Engel," said Dean, "Castiel… yeah, I think that's it… um, Mr. Holley wanted me to learn from a really good pianist and I heard Castiel's good- but you know, you're really good too-

"I'm Castiel," said Castiel, watching Dean intently.

"Oh, uh, hey," said Dean weakly.

"Who are you?" asked Castiel, warily.

"Dean Winchester," said Dean.

"I haven't heard of you," said Castiel, pursing his lips.

"James Carson," said Dean with a little shrug, "That's my stage name."

Castiel didn't acknowledge if he knew James Carson or Dean Winchester immediately. He appeared to be weighing his options of continuing to talk to Dean, or just walk away. Dean felt his heart beating furiously in his chest and he attempted to quiet it down by pure will- Castiel could probably hear this, especially with his supernatural playing, he probably had a few tricks up his sleeve. One can never trust a pianist; they're devious creatures of the night.

"You played Stanley Kowalski in a Streetcar Named Desire," said Castiel with an edge to his voice, "It was a terrible rendition. I don't know why they casted someone like you for the part. Perhaps it's the nice-looking face?"

"Excuse me?" snapped Dean, "I did an _excellent _job at Mr. Kowalski. Everyone said so, except for you apparently."

"Everything popular is wrong," said Castiel.

"Quoting Oscar Wilde, very clever- well right back at you- 'a witty saying proves nothing'," Dean said, feeling a little edgy himself. He worked hard to be in "A Streetcar Named Desire" and he wasn't about to stomp all over himself just because of some pretty piano player. Dean's eyes may have been playing wiles on him, but Castiel may have smiled a little.

"Why should I teach you?" asked Castiel, examining his nails.

"I want the part in 'the Pianist'," said Dean.

"You're neither Jewish nor musically talented, how do you expect to gain that part?" asked Castiel, further examining his fingernails.

"What makes you think I'm not musically talented? And it's a loosely based reindition."

"Men like you tend not to be musically talented," said Castiel smoothly, "There's a reason you want the part so badly, I know desperate when I see it."

"You know what?" Dean started, "Screw you, I can find someone else to help me- maybe that Constance lady, maybe she's less of a complete bitch."

Dean stormed off behind the curtain, realized he walked the wrong way, and then stormed in the other direction. Castiel smiled at him as he left, "You'll be back," he said softly. Dean responded with a venomous glare, almost tripping down the stage.

He did want to know what Castiel had been playing. Almost on cue, Castiel said very quietly but incredibly audibly "Consolation number three, by Franz Liszt," a pause, "I'll see you later, Dean."

"See you later my ass," Dean muttered as he stalked out of the music building. Franz Liszt, Dean recognized that name from somewhere.

He couldn't help it, but his mind was all blue eyes and inky hair for the next day. It was impossible to erase the man from his memory, and even harder to forget that playing. How could someone so bitter produce something so exceedingly beautiful? Poets wrote about men like Castiel, people painted pictures trying to express what Castiel was doing, people composed romanticized stories about people like Castiel- their genius, their eccentricities, and their…yes, their splendor. All of those musicians were beautiful, because monsters couldn't create the pure _love _like that.

Every time those cursed blue eyes came into his mind, Dean tried to be angry and indignant- but he was failing entirely. Especially when he picked up Sam Winchester from school who sensed it immediately with a "Dean, what's wrong?"

"What do you mean 'what's wrong'?" snapped Dean.

"You're never this quiet and thoughtful," said Sam, being level.

"_When I saw you I fell in love, and you smiled because you knew," _muttered Dean to himself.

Sam smiled, "So who's the lucky girl?"

"Girl? What?"

"Or guy," Sam said, shrugging, "I guess there's slim pickings, considering most of the women here are illegal and the men are attractive musicians or actors."

"No," said Dean, "It's nothing. It's absolutely nothing."

"Was that a line from your play?" asked Sam.

"Yes," said Dean shortly.

"No it wasn't, I've read the complete Shakespeare and practiced parts with you, that's never showed up," said Sam haughtily.

"Bitch," said Dean, shoving his brother.

"Jerk," said Sam, pushing back.

Dean dropped off Sam at their white picturesque house on Robin St. in downtown Houston before he headed towards the Roosevelt Theater. Dean was really dreading the dancing scenes with Tessa. Tessa was a good dancer, but Dean had about twelve left feet and the dancing scene was just miserable last time. He had told everyone he practiced but he was busy at the Spaghetti House working for Ellen and with Jo Harvelle for extra money. Dean couldn't really _feel _any rhythm. Sure he could jam to classic rock, but Beauty and the Beast? He was only taking the part because his girl little brother loved it, and he needed the money.

And Sam was really the light of Dean's life.

Dear reader, I have a little brother- the smallest like Sam Winchester. The smallest one has reddish hair and slight frame, and is sweetest little boy in the world. Sometimes I would like to be with him while he slept, while he was at peace. There were moments when he'd sit in my lap and we'd laugh for hours about nothing. When he was born, I was the first person to hold him- I insisted- he was beautiful. My little brother, also named Sam (but I call him Sammy) is the light of my life. I love to read to him, play chess with him, play piano and violin with him. Sometimes when he's scared or crying, I'll curl up next to him until he feels okay. When everyone in the world was "against" him, I would comfort him and stay by his side. I would walk from here to eternity for the little brat, because my love for him knows no bounds and the more I give, the more it grows. That's the kind of love Dean Winchester has for Sam Winchester, immovable and stretching on and on beyond the horizon.

Sam would know when Dean was upset, lonely, or just tired. Sam would go up to his brother, and hold him, even if he was the little brother because not everyone can stand tall all of the time. Dean didn't like to admit that, but Sam never brought it up to him. Those intimate moments wouldn't be forgotten between each other- but the rest of the world didn't need to know that Dean Winchester had a heart.


End file.
